Lancer || Cu Chulainn

You know, I really should be...y'know, angry. I don't lose fights. I don't lose anything. I'm the guy that never lost so much as a goddamned fidchell match in thirty years. So I should be angry I lost that tournament.

[Goldenrod City. 11:30 PM. Saturday night.]

[Lancer is, as any medieval Irishman coping with problems, thoroughly drunk. As evidenced by the half-empty bottle of what the hell ever in clear sight onscreen. Lancer himself is sitting on the floor with his back to the wall, snickering. At his side is a baby Squirtle, rocking back and forth on its shell and playing with its tail.]

But nope. I don't get angry. I ain't exactly stupid, I know what used to happen when I got angry. Who cares? As long as I'm alive, I'll just keep improving until I'm the best there is. Just like home. Dammit, this feels like I'm starting over from scratch.

. . .

[And then he srs'd.]

Hey. Hey. Johto. Sit the hell down and shut the hell up, 'm gonna tell you a story.

( tl;dr. you have been warned. )

...So--so this kid, right...he grows up to be a huge goddamn deal. Stands alone against an army, kills everythin' that's out to get him, best knight that ever lived and all that shit. Prince of Light, some people called him. Stupid name, always hated that one. Prince of Light. Sounds like some kinda faerie's title. Do I look like a goddamn sidhe to you people--hang...hang on. I had a point. I think. What was I doin' here?

Oh...yeah. Stupid Setanta got everythin' he wanted, in the end. Almost everythin'. He's famous, still is. And where that idiot is right now? Might as well be paradise compared to where he came from.

Got a question for ya, if you're still listenin'. Why isn't he happy, Johto?

[Lancer scowled faintly, though it was halfhearted at best. He pulled his knees to his chest and leaned his head on folded arms, looking oddly deadpan. His Squirtle rolled off of its back and curled up against his feet, looking worried.]

...wonder if Connla would know.